


In The Suit

by themthere_taterthings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Discovering Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter-centric, Teen Angst, Teen Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:31:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themthere_taterthings/pseuds/themthere_taterthings
Summary: Peter has recently discovered his powers, but he's keeping them a secret from his superhero parents. What they don't know can't hurt them, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I've been randomly working on for the past six months when I should be doing other things....

Peter glared at the torn, filthy red material in his hands. A few hours ago, it had been a very aerodynamic, stretchy, moisture-wicking, crime fighting suit in a cool spandex-derivative that had taken him days to make. Now, it was a handful of scrap that would be more useful as a rag in his dad’s workshop.

He’d designed it vaguely off of his father’s flight suit. Not the titanium alloy, red and gold, ego-busting monstrosity known as ‘Iron Man,’ but the sleek black under suit. It probably would have taken half the time to design if his dad had actually allowed him to see the specs for the under suit.

That is, if he hadn’t been making his suit behind his parents’ backs and simply asked for the specs.

The only problem with that ( _teensy weensy_ , really) was that they would have wanted to know why he wanted his own flight suit and he hadn’t told them about his new superpowers. The fact that they’d arisen from a radioactive spider bite when he wasn’t following proper lab safety protocols (in an Osborne facility, no less!) probably would have landed him grounded. Forever.

For. Eh. Ver.

The glasses-wearing nerd from the Sandlot popped into his head.

For. Eh. Ver.

He shuddered. No, Tony could never know. If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t stop Peter.

Sure, Peter totally understood that the whole bite thing could have been a lot worse. He could have died! Or turned into Spider-Hulk. But he hadn’t!

Instead, he’d been granted amazing abilities! Once he got a handle on his powers he could join the Avengers! He could be out helping people, fighting the bad guys. Be out with his parents, watching their backs from the front lines instead of back at headquarters with Jarvis.

No, Tony would try to fix it; analyze his DNA and cure him. It’s what happened when Aunt Pepper got hit with Extremis, even though she’d been fine. She could breathe fire (which was _awesome_ ), but she’d essentially been fine. Fixing things was just what Tony Stark did.

Peter’s new powers were the furthest thing from a problem. Nothing needed to be fixed and he wouldn’t let his dad’s insecurities take them from him. He would never admit it out loud, but keeping such a big secret from his parents was killing him just a little bit and he sometimes wished he could just ask his dad for help.

Growing up, Tony always had a project for the two of them to work on together. Just small science experiments for them to work out on a lazy Saturday afternoon; from Mentos in a Coke to creating latex from chemicals, or even taking apart an engine to learn what a carburetor did. They didn’t do it as often now and it saddened Peter to know that it was mostly his fault.

It was just the typical teenage phase of ‘I’m too cool to hang out with my parents’ and he’d told Dad he was too busy. After he’d missed a few lab times, some with no excuse at all, the invitations had slowed and then stopped altogether.

Now he missed the series of sticky note clues that would lead him to the lab with hints about the experiment they would be doing or with some code he would have to crack to get the password for Jarvis to let him in.

He wanted that back so much it hurt, but he wasn’t sure how to ask.

It would have been a lot of fun to create a new suit with Tony; designing polymers and calculating stretch. Maybe even add in whatever Stark-patented nano-Kevlar technology that was put in the Avengers’ suits. That definitely would have been handy today, that’s for sure.

The webbing was more difficult to use than originally anticipated. Generally, he did great. His grasp of physics was more than adequate for him to view and calculate the arc and directionalities of his throws, taking into account gravity and body-weight as it pertained to speed. What he wasn’t fully able to incorporate was wind.

‘Gusty’ was officially his least favorite weather.

A particularly unpleasant breeze just that afternoon had sent him careening into a nearby building, spreading him onto it like so much peanut butter on a slice of whole wheat. That would have been fine, but then he’d lost his grip on his web in surprise and hit several different floors of metal fire escape before finally, the ground.

The suit was ripped, his body was bruised and aching, and, _oh yeah_ , his pride was in the corner crying. At least there was no one around to see his misery.  

“Petey? What do you want for dinner?” Scratch that last thought; his dad’s voice carrying down the hall along with the sound of his approaching footsteps.

Crap! His room was a mess, he didn’t have a shirt on, and _yikes! His suit was in his hands!_ Panicking slightly, he snagged his schoolbag and shoved the suit in it, hurriedly zipping it and tossing it on the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. Nothing suspicious about a backpack, not in this disaster zone.

“I was thinking we could walk down to that diner your Pops likes so much. Take some selfies and make him jealous while he’s out on mission.” The joviality quickly fell from Tony’s voice as he strode through the doorway getting an eyeful of Peter’s bruised shoulder and torso.

His dad looked stressed out, his brown hair fluffy and wild like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. Even his suit was a little rumpled, tie loosened and vest unbuttoned.

Even if he had decided to share this with his dad, this is not how he would have gone about it.

Tony’s expression was a mixture of horrified and about-to-cry that Peter hadn’t ever seen before. The only other time he’d seen anything remotely close was when he’d come home after missing a lab session; one he said he’d been looking forward to and then blown off completely to hang out with a girl.

But he couldn’t tell him the truth and risk it being taken away. This was Tony Stark, there were news articles written about how unreasonable he could be; they might be primarily in trashy, disreputable rags hardly deserving the designation of ‘news’ but Peter rested his case. No, his dad was definitely in the wrong on this one.

It took only moments for a sense of righteous indignation to bubble up in his chest, turning to anger by the time Tony had crossed the room. He reached out gingerly with a hand, as if to trace the bruising.

“Peter, what on earth happened?! Are you alright?” His voice was hard with concern.

Peter brusquely pushed the hand away with the back of his forearm. “It’s nothing, Dad. I tried some new moves on the skateboard and it didn’t go well.” His smile felt forced and fake; judging by the frown he was getting in return, Tony wasn’t buying it.

“Since when do you skateboard? I thought only those jock jerks did that?” Tony’s brow was furrowed, and he looked about two seconds away from full-blown ‘dad mode.’

“Since I just do! It looked like fun so I tried it and I suck, ok? Can you just leave it alone?” Peter almost shouted at Tony, wanting nothing more than a few more moments alone to put on a shirt and lament the loss of his new spidey-suit.

A tiny wisp of sadness flits through him as Tony’s expression reflects hurt at Peter’s outburst, but it’s shuttered quickly and the ‘genius, billionaire, philanthropist’ mask is on.

“Yeah, ok. You know where the ice packs are. I’ll be in my office or the workshop if you need me. Grab whatever you want for dinner.” Then his dad was gone, stalking away quickly and pulling the door shut behind him.

Peter’s shoulders sag and he feels worse than before, it that was possible. Why couldn’t he just talk to that man anymore? It seemed like every time they tried to talk, Peter just ended up spewing vitriol that he didn’t mean and his dad didn’t deserve.

***

Ignoring his dad for an entire week truly hadn’t been his intention after their little argument. First, he’d been trying to hide how quickly his bruises had faded, then he was working in every spare moment to re-fabricate his suit, in between homework and tests and photography club. He hadn’t realized until just that afternoon that more than a week had gone by since they’d done anything more than exchange quick ‘good mornings’ before Peter left for school.

He’d come home from school with awesome news to share with his dad, but couldn’t find him in any of his usual haunts. Maybe the news that he’d finally gotten the guts together to ask Gwen out and she’d said yes would break the strange tension that had come between them.

 “J, where’s Dad?” Peter asked aloud, knowing that Jarvis would pick it up.

The response was immediate. “Sir is in his office, young Sir.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks J.” He strode toward the office, which was little more than just a desk in the library. Most of Tony’s real work happened down in the workshop or actually at Stark Industries, so the desk was just so that he could annoy Pops when he tried to read.

As he got closer, he could hear Tony on the phone, probably talking to Pops since he was still away on one of his SHIELD missions. Steve was gone more often now that Peter was older and understood that he wasn’t being abandoned, like he had when he’d first been adopted.

Even though he wasn’t normally one to eavesdrop, he stopped in the hallway to listen. His new powers did grant him some heightened hearing and it didn’t hurt to test it out occasionally. What he heard made his blood run cold, though.

“I don’t know what to do, Steve. He won’t even stay in the same room with me for five minutes, let alone talk! I have no idea what’s going on. And the bruises, Steve…” Peter peeked around the corner in time to see his dad flop down onto one of the leather ottomans, completely slumped over in defeat, forehead cradled in one hand. “I’m so worried, can you please cut this mission short? Maybe he’ll tell you what’s up.”

Peter instantly hunched in on himself, clutching at his elbows with both hands. The infallible Tony Stark didn’t _whine_ like that.

There were a few moments of silence, when Pops must have been talking.

“You know what I mean, Steve. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. It’s been that way since he got into high school; if he has a problem he goes to you. Maybe we should switch up this arrangement. I’ll go out with the Avengers and you stay home with him. I just feel like I’m failing him.” Anguish and defeat permeated the room and Peter had to bite his lip to stop himself from running in and hugging the daylights out of his dad.

“I don’t know what I did, what happened, but it’s obvious that he’s not comfortable with me. Kids should be comfortable in their own house. He should feel safe here and I think he’d feel safer with you.” There’s a long, tense pause. “If I weren’t here.”

That was so wrong! He didn’t mean to make Tony feel so bad about himself! Peter had messed up big time. In trying to keep him from worrying he’d made it so much worse! Now he was sad and doubting his parenting abilities.

Tony was a fantastic dad! It was just that Peter was a bad son, apparently. Peter walked back to his room slowly, head bowed as he wrestled with the massive load of guilt settled on his shoulders.

***

Peter is wracked with guilt but doesn’t know how to apologize. He doesn’t want to do anything more to upset Tony, so he ends up avoiding the man completely; hiding out in his room as much as possible so that he doesn’t botch this completely. He needs a complete plan of attack before he even tries.

A few days later, on Saturday morning, he decides he’s going to do it. He’ll make breakfast (and coffee!) and sit in the library with Tony and he’ll apologize for being a jerk and explain the truth about Spider-Man. No matter the consequences, he can’t live like this anymore.

So he verifies with J that Tony isn’t in the kitchen and he whips up some scrambled eggs, topping them with green chili and bell peppers and gets the coffee ready. When it’s all set up on one of the many serving platters they have floating around but only use on the holidays, he heads into the living room.

He stops at the entrance to stare in amazement. In addition to the television, which is broadcasting one of news stations showing explosions, there are at least four blue holoscreens projecting around. Is that? An attack on one of the Stark Industries warehouses?

Tony is pacing around like a wildcat, gesturing at the screens and on the phone with what must be SHIELD. “Are you telling me that someone’s attacking multiple Stark facilities across town? Well, we need agents at each, pronto to help with the evacuations. No, I don’t care what they’re after right now. Do you know how many employees I have?! Evacuation comes first! Pepper’s on it. Get with her.”

He ends the phone call abruptly, turning to look at Peter with wide, surprised eyes. “Peter?”

Peter holds up the tray of food and shrugs a bit, “Breakfast?”

“Incoming call...Steve Rogers,” Jarvis interrupts and Tony sighs, closing his eyes and holding a finger up to Peter.

“Wait one minute, Peter. That looks fantastic.” Peter smiles and walks into the room, putting the tray down on one of the end tables around the couch. “Jarvis, answer.”

“Tony? SHIELD just reported back. It’s AIM, I don’t know what they’re after, but it’s probably an attempt to draw you out. You’re the only Avenger in New York right now. I don’t know how they found out. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid like go out and meet them?”

As he watched Tony’s quick, anxious pacing, one hand repeatedly running frustrated tracks through his hair, time seemed to suddenly slow around him. For one single, strange moment, he was aware of everything; the nervous sweat rolling down the back of his neck, the steam swirling off of cooling eggs across the room, and a helicopter rising outside of the window, with men hanging out the side, guns out.

“Duck!” He yelled, and luckily years of being Iron Man means that his dad is quick on the draw. They both hit the floor as the living room exploded with chaos. Glass and bullets and noise.

After a few moments, though, the helicopter moved on and an overwhelming quiet filled the air.

“Peter, are you ok?” Tony’s voice seemed really far away. Adrenaline, probably, he realized as he took stock of his pounding heart and harsh breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah, Dad I’m good,” and it sounded like he was talking through a tunnel. He slowly got to his feet, walking around the couch he’d ducked behind. He knows his dad is probably looking him over for injuries, but he’s too relieved that Tony is standing and alive to care.

His new senses fail him then, only catching a hint of movement in his peripherals. He watched his dad do something weird with his arms, gesturing at Peter just as black-clad, masked men come flying in the broken windows. They must have rappelled from the roof, but they come in shooting and he winced at the noise.

He didn’t know if he should duck or fight or run, but adrenaline was flooding his system, making it hard to stand and do nothing, even if he was scared out of his mind.

Tony had sprung into action, running toward the invaders and kicking out at one’s hand that held out a gun for reloading. It fell, and they were engaged into some very grunty, fast fighting. Why didn’t he just put on the suit?

Then it’s suddenly dark and quiet.

He opened his eyes, surprised to find himself encased within the Iron Man armor. “Good afternoon, young Sir. I’m tracking a helicopter with several heat and weapon signatures approaching the window. Please allow me to direct the suit to engage.” Jarvis’ unflappable cool tone spoke in his ears.

The heads-up display was showing so many things at once, he didn’t know what to look at. Was that a targeting system?

“Uhh, sure thing, J,” he muttered, not sure if his agreement was actually needed. He was a little worried about the muted sounds of rapid gunfire, but he couldn’t see Tony from inside the helmet.

Without any input from him, the arms were moving, shooting beams of light blue at enemies targeted on the HUD. The familiar high-pitched whine of the repulsors was strangely reassuring. The suit moved, fluid and graceful, and he was just along for the ride. It was exhilarating. Is this what Tony saw all the time? No wonder he loved his suits! It was amazing!

But why was _he_ wearing the suit? It wasn’t like Tony at all to let someone else in it. Even after all these years of being Iron Man, Uncle Rhodey was the only other person to have one.

True, Peter had his own pair of rocket boots when he was ten, but that only lasted until Pops found out. Peter and Tony still laughed at the memory of Steve’s face when he first saw Peter zipping around the ceiling of one the Avengers gyms with Dad cheering him on from the sidelines; it was the perfect Captain America mixture of surprise, amusement, and parental disappointment.

There was actually a framed copy of that exact moment in the workshop.

It was a little unnerving, not being in control of his body. Well, he was in control of his body, but the suit was tighter than he would have guessed, so where the suit went, he went. Sure enough, Jarvis turned the suit toward the window as a helicopter rose into view.

A rolling screen of stats and specs appeared in the lower left side of the HUD. “Rockets, J?” He almost laughed when he understood.

“Indeed,” came the computerized reply, and it was…smug? Four small rockets popped up from the suit’s shoulders, firing almost instantly. All of them hit the helicopter, which exploded fantastically; falling away from the tower in a cloud of orange and black.

“Woohoo!” Peter yelled. “Great job, J!” He would have thrown a fist up if he could control his own limbs.

“Sir, emergency services and SHIELD have been notified and an ambulance is on the way. ETA seven minutes,” Jarvis stated, unruffled and cool as always. This time the voice wasn’t directed within the helmet, but broadcast outside.

His stomach dropped as the suit turned, dread washing over him in an icy wave, sucking the warmth from his skin and the breath from his lungs. One of Tony’s hands clutched at his stomach, red seeping through, the other gripping the back of the couch to stay upright. He could see immediately that it wasn’t the only wound he had.

“Peter,” he gasped out, taking a hesitant step toward him before his face scrunched up ino a grimace and his legs crumpled. Peter surged forward, the suit releasing him in time to crash to his knees and catch his father before he hit the floor.

“Oh god, Dad,” he breathed, alarmed by the wetness he could feel seeping into his jeans and onto the floor. “What do I do? What do I do?” No one answered and Tony’s eyelids fluttered shut. “No! Dad, come on stay awake! I don’t know what to do!” Tears were streaming down his face though he tried to stay calm, hugging his dad tightly to his chest.

“Incoming call… Steve Rogers,” Jarvis intoned before his Pops’ voice came from the exterior suit speakers.

“Tony? What’s going on? I can’t get through to anyone but it looks like there was an explosion at the tower. It’s all over the news. Please tell me you and Peter got out,” Steve demanded, sounding harsh to Peter.

“Papa?” He hadn’t called Steve that in ages, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be alone, holding his dad while he bled out.

“Peter?” Steve’s voice softened considerably. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you ok?”

Peter could hear the unasked question; _why isn’t Tony answering?_ “Papa, its Dad. He’s hurt, there’s so much blood and I don’t know what to do! The suit came for me. Why did it come for me? It should have protected _him_!” He was yelling and rambling, holding his dad close and rocking on his knees. His eyes were closed, he couldn’t look. Didn’t want to see.

“Peter, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Listen to me, Peter. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” he whispered tremulously. He didn’t believe Pops, he wasn’t here, wasn’t seeing how bad it really was. He would never get the chance to apologize to Dad. He would never get one of those perfect hugs that ended up with grease all over them both. They would never have another tickle fight over who got to look through the microscope first.

“Get Tony in the suit, ok? It has the interior compression system and vitals monitoring so we can help. Jarvis, you there?”

“Always, Sir.” The suit, controlled by Jarvis, knelt by Peter and seemed to melt around Tony. “Young Sir, please release Sir, I have oxygen and morphine ready.”

Peter couldn’t imagine letting go, but one of the gauntlets settled on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Of course Jarvis would be as worried about Tony as he was.

“Let go, son. I need you to let go,” Steve added. Peter nodded and released his tight hold, allowing the rest of the suit to close up, faceplate last. Peter couldn’t help but think that it was the last time he’d ever see Tony alive; pale and bloody, a mere shadow of his usual self. “J, can you get him to the helicarrier? It should be close by, and alert Medical on the way?”

“Consider it done, Sir. I’ll keep you both informed.” The suit stood slowly before launching out the ruined window with a whine of the repulsors.

Peter wasn’t left alone for long. The blur of red and gold had barely left his range of vision before Phil and a strike team were streaming in through the elevators. A figure was crouched with Peter, trying to get his attention, but all he could see was how the shiny black dress shoes had carefully avoided the huge red spot on their light grey carpet.

There was a soft touch on his ear, barely there, but then there was a voice. Familiar and comforting, he let the words wash over him. Eventually, it registered that it was a communicator and his Pops was talking to him, telling him it was ok and random mundane things.

“Papa?” He replied eventually.

There was a relieved sigh from the other side. “Peter, thank God. Phil said you went into shock for a bit. How are you feeling?”

“O-ok.” He realized he was shaking, and a little nauseous. He said so.

“That’s fine; Phil’s going to take you up to medical, ok? Just go with him and get checked out. I’ll be there as soon as I can to meet you. You did a good job today, son. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Pops.” He went to pull the communicator device out of his ear, but caught sight of his still bloody hands. The events of the past two weeks jumped back in his head. What if that stupid fight he’d started was the last real thing he ever said to his dad? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d told him he loved him.

Tears pricked his eyes again as grief filled his chest. “Pops? Can you stay on the line? I just… I can’t..” he didn’t know how to verbalize it. He didn’t want his Pops to know what a crappy son he’d really been lately.

“Yeah, I can do that. You wouldn’t believe what Clint did for breakfast the other day…”

Peter listened, allowing Phil or whoever to pull him to his feet and propel him along, upstairs to the roof where a quinjet was waiting. He was buckled in, a dark grey shock blanket gently draped around his shoulders, and a small bottle of orange juice placed in his hand, lid already off.

“Drink that, Peter, it will help.” Peter wondered how Phil could always look so put together, despite the chaos of his job.

“That’s actually my superpower,” the man replied, coaxing Peter’s arm to rise bringing the juice closer to his mouth. Oh, he’d spoken aloud. Oops. He tried not to think of anything for the rest of the ride and focused on finishing the juice in his hand.

He was actually feeling better, physically anyway, by the time he was escorted into the helicarrier’s medical bay. His Pops was still a vague voice in his ear, sometimes cajoling him along. Phil was probably on a separate line to Steve, telling him when Peter needed an extra push.

Someone cleaned his hands, helped him change into a pair of plain black sweatpants and a Shield logo sweatshirt. He plucked at it absently. Dad will be mad, he thought. He had a single minded possessiveness about the Stark Industries logo.

After a few minutes, the swarming nurses and agents dispersed, leaving him alone in a small room. It had two beds with a curtain in between that could be pulled for privacy. Peter lay in one and the other was empty. He wondered if eventually they’d bring his dad in here. But no one had said a work about Tony’s condition; maybe it was really bad and they didn’t want to tell him before Steve got there.

If he’d just told his dad about his new powers, they wouldn’t have been fighting. Tony would have known that he didn’t need the suit to protect him. It would have gone to Tony and he would be fine. He wouldn’t have been bleeding out on the living room floor.

This was all his fault.

He closed his eyes against more tears, and turned on his side to face the wall, pulling the shock blanket up over his head to block out the world.

***

A hand was stroking his hair, softly pushing it away from his forehead and continuing through the locks to the back. Repeat. It was nice. The hand rested on his neck, near his pulse point. It was large and warm; _Pops, then._ Dad’s hands were usually cold due to his poor circulation and inability to dress himself for the weather.

 _Dad!_ He shot up in bed, startling his Pops who stood quickly, hands settling heavily on Peter’s shoulders.

“Sshhh, calm down Petey, it’s ok. He’s fine, Tony’s fine,” Steve said. His hair was damp and he wore clothing almost identical to Peters.

“Really?” Peter asked tremulously, hardly daring to breathe, hands gripping hard at Steve’s forearms.

“He was shot three times and one bullet nicked his femur, so it’s mostly blood loss and a couple of surgeries. He’ll be fine.” Peter launched himself at Steve, grabbing him around the neck in a fierce hug. A pair of giant arms wrapped around him, squeezing back gently and rubbing soothing circles into the space between his shoulder blades.

When did he stop asking for hugs from his parents? They were awesome.

“You can go see him in a few minutes, but I want to talk to you about some things first.” Steve untangled his son from him and waited until he was settled before starting in. He sat on the bed with Peter, holding him close in a one-armed hug. He gestured toward the communicator on the small nightstand; it was the one Phil had put in his ear so the two of them could talk.  

“You were a little out of it last night, just experiencing some shock. But you were rambling some things and I want to set the record straight.” His blue eyes met Peter’s and there was steel behind the warmth. “What happened yesterday with your dad, his injuries, and the attack; none of that was your fault.”

Peter flushed, not realizing he’d been vocalizing his guilty thoughts. “But the suit..?”

“Tony’s had his suits programmed for you for years. There are probably protocols in place that even I don’t know about, but no matter what, you will always come first to your dad.”

His mouth was agape, he could feel it but he couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it at the moment. There had always been a suit ready to protect him? That was just… _wow_. It put making up for being a shitty son at the top of his to-do list.

“I was also wondering about these powers you mentioned. As much as I would love to wait and include Tony, I think I need to hear this now.”

Peter slumped over so that his head was on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Peter. I love you no matter what, so let’s hear it.”

Reassured, Peter spent the next hour telling Pops about the field trip, the bite, and his flu-like symptoms that persisted for a couple days after.

“This happened when we thought you had the flu? Peter that was ages ago!” Steve scrubbed roughly at his face with his free hand before sighing heavily. “Anyway, keep going.”

Then they got to the emergence of the powers and he was gratified by Steve’s reaction to his webbing demonstration. “Wow! Tony is going to be so impressed, buddy. After he gets over being worried, that is. Do you realize that the initial symptoms could have been much worse? And we wouldn’t have had any idea what was wrong.”

Peter sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting it, and nodded, duly shamed. “Biology is not Tony’s strong suit, so I don’t know if he would be able to fix it if that’s something you wanted. We all know how tricky radiation can be,” Steve joked lightly, referring to himself and Dr. Banner.

“I know, and I’m sorry Pops. I really am. I just let it get to my head, you know? The thought of being on the team with you and Dad, helping people… It just sounds great.” To be honest, it’s the last thing on he wants to think about right now. He doesn’t know if he could be that close to his parents in danger and still be functional. Look what had just happened! He’d frozen in panic and Tony had gotten seriously hurt. They probably wanted someone better watching their backs.

“We’d love to have you on the team, Peter, if that’s what you really want. But we’ll have to start with training. Lots and lots of training, just like everyone else.” Just like that his fears were calmed. He should have known they wouldn’t be throwing him into combat situations unprepared like yesterday.

“Can we just go see Dad now?” He whined, not ashamed to pull out his irresistible puppy-dog eyes.

“Yeah, sport,” Pops chuckled. “Let’s head over.”

***

Peter still felt a little… shocky? Yeah, that was probably the right word, as they walked through SHIELD’s state of the art medical wing. Steve’s steadfast acceptance of his new powers, basically being invited to train and eventually join the Avengers was amazing!

It should have been the best moment of his life, but it wasn’t.

Despite reassurances from _Captain America_ of all people, Peter was still feeling extremely guilty about Tony being hurt. The memory of him collapsing in front of him kept replaying in his mind; there was a phantom warm wetness on his hands.

He just wanted his dad to be ok. He wanted to apologize for the years of awkwardness between them and especially for the past few weeks. Then hug until their arms fall off and spend a week in the lab just the two of them, coming up with replacements with the help of Jarvis and the bots.

If he could turn back time and smack his younger self, he would. His dad would never feel anything but love and appreciation from him.

He felt unsteady, like he could burst into tears at any moment; which is exactly what he did when Steve steered him into a room one floor up and he caught sight of Tony.

He was bandaged and hooked up to so many machines. Bruises were prominent through the days’ worth of scruff on his chin and one leg was propped up a bit, white cast barely visible. His eyes were closed, looking so much like he had when he’d passed out in Peter’s arms.

At Peter’s cries, though, his eyes popped open. “Oh Peter,” he said, voice raspy and quiet. “Don’t cry, baby boy.” He pat the bedside on his less injured side and Peter all but flung himself across the room and onto the bed.

His face was buried up against his dad’s neck, arms around his torso, his long lanky body pressed along as much of Tony’s side as he could manage. Tony grunted slightly, either in surprise or pain or a little of both, but brought one hand up to cradle the base of Peter’s head as he cried himself out.

Peter couldn’t help the apologies spewing out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m the worst son ever, but I love you! I was so scared, I don’t want you to die.” They were ugly sobs, leaving him breathless and exhausted and Tony’s neck and hospital gown wet beneath his face.

Eventually he registered the words Dad whispered back to him on repeat. “It’s ok, baby, I love you too. I’ll always be here for you. Sshhh… don’t cry.”

He was able to slow his breathing to match those of the chest beneath him under the constant reassurance he was receiving. He hadn’t lost his Dad today and maybe it wasn’t too late to fix their relationship. It just meant too much to him, he realized now, to let it drift away. So he clutched at the man who had taken care of him when he didn’t have to, who had always gone above and beyond in making sure that he was healthy and happy. The man who had almost single-handedly given Peter a home and a family; they would all be nothing without him.

***

_Tony was in an unbelievable amount of pain; Peter’s enthusiastic greeting having jarred his injuries, but his son was so upset he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. He wouldn’t deny Peter any of the comfort he needed, not ever. He just held his son tightly, trying to convey through touch just how much he was loved, no matter what happened between them._

_“It’s ok, baby, it’s going to be ok,” he whispered into Peter’s soft locks. It was, going to be ok. It would be ok because their family was together and they would always be ok together. He ran his hand that wasn’t connected to an IV line through Peter’s hair, trying to soothe the boy, while his other was held securely in the warm, strong grasp of his beautiful husband._

_He smiled at Steve, seated on the much-too small chair at his bedside. Worry lines and tension were obvious around his blue eyes; Tony couldn’t imagine being on the other side of that phone call and have to hear his family being attacked but be unable to see or help._

_The pain started to ebb and a drugged drowsiness started to pull him down. His words were slurring together and it was an effort to hold his eyes open. He felt a feather-light kiss press against his lips and he squeezed Steve’s hand in thanks, he must have hit the painkiller button._

_He drifted off into sleep, holding on to his son and husband, confident that everything would be better in the morning._

 


End file.
